


Seeking Inspiration.

by Esuna



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Adventurers, Gen, Meeting Strangers, Original Character(s), Wandering Bard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esuna/pseuds/Esuna
Summary: A series of meetings in the constant wanderings of a bard, through Eorzea and the lands beyond.





	Seeking Inspiration.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Howl (@revelingkamuy on Twitter) for letting me use their OC for this experiment of mine! ♥

      Sometimes, a storm would pass through Limsa Lominsa, and the city would grind to a halt. Small trading boats did not dare to make for deeper waters when the waves threatened to dash the vessels against coastal rocks like they were flies being swatted. Every sailor, veteran or greenhorn, knew that the Navigator’s wroth display of power was not one to simply scoff at; She was a lady whose mood had to be respected.

      On a morning where such bad weather was battering the thalassocracy, a studied arcanist by the name of Howl Jenkins sat in the Drowning Wench. With his dog resting at his feet, gnawing on a bone offered that had been offered free of charge along with a drink, the Hyur watched the rain lash the chalk stone.

      He lifted his mug, and took a sip from the contents—Gridanian mead, a sweet drink to brighten up a grey day—as his gaze drifted across the tavern. There were all sorts huddling inside. A group of fledgling adventurers, frustrated with their arcanist companion (who was complaining that this sort of rain would ruin his book and _would you smash your cane against a rock, you forest-dwelling twit_ ), a trio of sailors, two of which were trying to rally the spirits of their friend as he gazed at a miqo’te waitress tending to the Wench’s patrons. Clumps of people, all huddled together… and then there was Howl, sat alone with his dog and his drink.

      There was a simple reason as to why most were avoiding his table: it was close to a wide, shallow opening that allowed the occasional gust of wind to push raindrops inside, like the clouds were scouting the inside of the building. Howl didn’t mind so much. As long as he could shield his drink in time, he was fine with the spray. Roscoe didn’t seem bothered either, judging by the telltale crunching and grinding of bone being chewed. Howl’s thoughts drifted as he once more looked out to the weather. Perhaps he was akin to a cloud-shrouded sun; cold and grey and bitter on the outside. That wasn’t truly, really him though, was it? No, a covered sun was still warm.

      “Ah, excuse me?” Howl blinked back to his senses, peered in the direction of the voice so close to him. To his right stood a hyur woman clutching at her own mug (though hers steamed—tea, Howl could only assume) with a smile on her face. “Would you mind if I joined you? Every other table is taken.”  
      “So it seems,” he breathed out, confirming her statement as true; at every table sat a group. He gestured to the nearby seat with a smile. “Please, sit.”

      Her gratitude was evident by the way she beamed and bobbed her head in silent thanks, shrugging her bow and quiver from her shoulder. She rested them against the table before taking her seat, joining the man in gazing out to the grey clouds beyond, the rain, the ocean. There was no talking for a time, until she aired a question.

      “You’ve a dog?”  
      Howl nodded, his smile growing. “I do,” came his reply, and he leaned back and to the side, peering under the table to the shiba. “His name is Roscoe.”  
      “What a sweet name! You know, I’ve a friend with a chocobo called Ro.” The girl leaned forward, lifting her mug to her lips. “Tell me about Roscoe then,” she said before taking a sip of her drink.

      The Scion grinned in response, and gladly went into the details. Where he got him, what breed he was, his age, his favourite foodstuff. The girl asked further questions curiously, probing into the nature of the canine ( _does he chew things he shouldn’t? Did you get him that bandanna? Does he fetch you things?_ ) and it wasn’t long before she was nodding, leaned back also, gazing at Howl’s companion with an almost knowing smile.

      “He seems a good friend. It must be nice to have such a constant companion.” Her gaze drifted from pet to master, honey-gold eyes studying him for a moment. Howl nodded once more, taking another swig of his mead.  
      “It is. He’s one of the best things to have ever happened to me.” And that was true—Howl had spent many nights in the company of others, but there was something about simply having the wordless companionship of Roscoe that soothed him more than anything else.

      “Roscoe, beloved pet of…?”  
      “Howl Jenkins.”

      The girl smiled, like gold, like amber, a stark contrast to his silver, his cloud shawl.

      “A pleasure to meet you, Howl. My name is Imogene.”

      Beyond the shallow opening, against the tense sea, a sun ray broke through the clouds.


End file.
